


The Good, the Bad, and the Bestial - Caper the First: the Wagon Wars

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS AUs [1]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:55:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC
Summary: A re-imagining of SSSS as a Western - and the first of many capers.





	1. The Gathering of the Band of Six

“Not a chance, Taru,” Onni Talks-to-Spirits said. “They’re not going.”

“Who asked you?” The question erupted from Taru Walks-the-World and Tuuri Face-Like-Baby simultaneously.

“Hi.” Lalli Ghost-of-Forest appeared with his usual stealth. With incredible despatch, Tuuri bundled him into the waiting stagecoach, climbing in after him.

“Look, I’m taking these two to Milwaukee, and that’s that.” Having tired of the stick, Taru extended the carrot. “You can come with us, you know. We can find something for you to do that won’t mean... mingling.”

For a moment, Onni looked tempted; then, he looked agonized. “I can’t.”

Taru nodded. “Then, farewell, Onni Talks-to-Spirits.” She nodded at the driver, who whipped up the horses.

“Don’t worry, Big Brother,” Tuuri called as they pulled away. “We’ll be back before the New Year.”

*

Milwaukee was the biggest, most bustling place Tuuri had ever seen; so much so that getting to the Westbrooks’ place seemed a nice respite, at least after the kids were sloughed off. This was one time when she was certain Lalli felt exactly as she did.

She was a little dubious about their new team-mate, Emil “the Dude”--the sobriquet had leapt into her mind when she first saw him and simply stuck there. Sometimes he was frightfully arrogant, but then he’d turn around and do something really nice. Lalli seemed to be warming to him unusually fast, too, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, either.

Then they told Tuuri that they’d meet up with the two senior members of the team down in Council Bluffs before heading out further West to their “target”, somewhere in the depths of the Wyoming Territory, and she was a bit reassured.

“Captain Eide’s a woman. That won’t be a problem for you, will it, Emil?”

“Man, woman, red, black, yellow or white: if she’s as good as you’ve said, I’ll follow her.”

That settled, they went to the train station.

*

The first leg of their journey, to Chicago, had passed without incident, aside from Lalli displaying a peculiar reluctance to board their next train. After a bit of time to himself, though, he’d bounded to join them, and all was well.

They were only a few hours out of Chicago when the bandits attacked. The train guards had jumped right into action, though, and the few who’d boarded were quickly cut down, but not before Lalli & Emil had blundered into the middle of the shoot-out.

Oddly enough, one of the dying bandits had recognized Emil, going so far as to try to grab hold of him. Emil had promptly screamed like a girl--and decked the bandit like a man. He then herded Lalli back to their bunks and passed out.

*

When they reached Council Bluffs, they had to switch trains _again,_ but on this next leg, they’d be joined by their leader, the fearless Captain Eide, and their medic, Doc Madsen. They were really, really, _really_ tall; in fact, Tuuri had never met two people as tall as they were.

Aside from extreme height, though, the two of them couldn’t have been more different: where Sigrun was brash, decisive and talkative (Tuuri later concluded that Sigrun’s rapid chatter was really one of her best weapons), Mikkel was cautious, contemplative and very nearly as taciturn as Lalli.

Their mission remained a secret, though, until they finally left the train in Green River, ready to strike north.

*

“Two and a half years ago, the Westbrook family fortune was entrusted to a Wyoming prospector who had literally stumbled into a fortune--a fortune in sapphires and rubies. All he needed, said he, was the funding to start mining and the gems would flow like water from a pump.” Emil paused. “Now, the way tales like this usually end is that the ‘prospector’ vanishes with all the money, leaving nothing behind but the echoes of his false promises. Instead, he brought us all out to see the mine and to sign ‘a few unimportant forms appurtenant to the venture’. Those forms gave him everything and left us with a pittance--barely a cent on each dollar that had been invested. But that isn’t the worst of it. According to my uncle, the [EXPLETIVE DELETED] is using slave labor to work the mines.”

A gasp sounded outside their window. A six-shooter appeared in Sigrun’s hand, but before she could do anything else, a tall, gangly red-headed boy with a long braid crashed into the room. Through the shattered window, Tuuri could see Lalli looking smug.

“Great,” Sigrun commented grimly, “a spy.”

After some _very_ fast talking by the lurker (Reynir Arnason, a runaway from the family farm just trying to see the world--who’d gotten stuck in Green River with no money, food, or prospects), Sigrun had agreed to bring him along “to help care for the horses”.

Well, at least they were on their way, moving north along the Green River as fast as they dared.

What awaited them, however, was more than they’d planned on...


	2. To Add Munitions

Tuuri expertly brought the Conestoga and its team to a halt a few yards from the shack. “Very nice,” Emil admired. “That’s the kind of driving we’ll need once we’ve picked up our load of nitro here.” Tuuri’s eyes went wide and she swallowed hard, but Emil had turned away to talk to the Captain. Even Tuuri had heard of how volatile nitroglycerine was, and the thought of having to coax a full load of it down the valley was--intimidating.

At any rate, this was where they were to get Emil’s explosives, and Sigrun figured she, Emil and Lalli could handle that. Tuuri liked the idea of keeping as far away from the big pile of explosives as she could for as long as she could, and Reynir was a bit too _bouncy_ for his help to be given serious consideration. Naturally, Mikkel would stay back to keep a watchful eye on the two of them, so that was settled.

“Mikkel,” Tuuri said, watching Reynir make the horse team’s acquaintance after Sigrun, Emil and Lalli had left, “I’ve been thinking, and something still puzzles me: who was that bald man with you when we met? And how (and why) did Taru get involved in this so as to bring us in on it?”

“The man was Trond Andersen, a militia general in the War. The Westbrooks found him and Taru when their funds came up just short of the amount they needed to get the mines running; after the swindle, the two of them were only too happy to recruit us and fund this jaunt to secure a bigger piece of the mines for themselves. The Westbrooks will still have what they were to when they put their cash up, and a bit more, so they’re fine with that arrangement. Trond mostly arranged for our supplies, like the ones they’re fetching now.”

*

“There’s something wrong,” Emil announced, his face puzzled.

“Good boy,” Sigrun applauded him. “I was wondering if you would see it.”

“Are we both thinking that the pile has been rigged to blow when we move it?” Emil asked.

Sigrun nodded coolly. “I was thinking the detonator is probably under there.” She gestured at a likely spot.

“Maybe--lemme get down for a better look,” Emil said. “Ah. Yes, and no.”

“What?”

“I think whoever set this up outsmarted themselves. They wanted multiple trigger points to be sure we would trip at least one, but they only had the one detonator, so they rigged up a nice little spiderweb here under the table. Now, if I can cut the web like so--” A soft snip sounded, and he smiled. “We’re clear to pack the stuff out.”

*

Lalli looked up drowsily at Emil’s yell. Well, that was amazing. For all his yelling, the fancy pants hadn’t jerked back or jumped or anything like that, which, while natural when you just trod on some dead guy, would mean disaster for someone loaded down with nitro like Emil. Sigrun calmed him and aided him out, and they called for Lalli to come with his share.

“We need to scout out this place,” Sigrun announced once Mikkel was safely loading the wagon. “That body was too fresh for my taste, and I’ve been itching to get my hands on whoever tried to blow us to Kingdom Come back there.” She gave Emil the main shack to look over, Lalli the back, and saved the front barn for herself.

*

“Sig _RUN!!!”_ Emil called, his knife buried in the goon’s shoulder as the bandit doggedly tried to get his hands around Emil’s neck.

Bare seconds later, Sigrun had stabbed the goon through the heart and pulled his body from Emil. “Let’s go!” she snapped, but Emil had something else in mind.

The first goon had shaken off the bash Emil had given him with the lantern and was coming at them, so Emil stuffed a kerchief in the lantern base, lit it, and threw it at the goon with a cry of, “Catch!”

The kerosene in the lantern all went up at once, the percussion being enough to set off what was left of the nitro in the other room.

*

**KA- _THUMMM_**

Mikkel was facing away from the shack when it blew up, so he didn’t get any serious hurts. “Tuuri! Reynir! Time to go!” he yelled before moving to meet the figures emerging from the smoke. Sigrun and Emil were propping each other up and coughing, but they didn’t look to be needing any doctoring. “Where’s Lalli?”

“Hi.” Lalli spoke from behind them, making them all jump. Then he glared at Emil and went back to the wagon. The other three followed, and Tuuri drove them away from the flaming wreckage as fast as she dared.

It wouldn’t be the last time...


	3. Wagons of War, and How to Employ Them

It wasn’t until they’d left the river valley at the point where it forked to strike along a well-traveled path leading north that they held a true council of war. This time, Sigrun did most of the talking.

“Russet and his gang--they’re the ones running the mines--use heavy ironclad wagons, each with a turret-mounted Gatling gun, to ship loads of gems from the mine and pick up fresh slaves from points south.” Sigrun paused. “We’re going to capture one and use it to bust into the mine area.”

“There’s a bridge across a ravine up ahead,” Emil put in. “Blow that while a wagon’s on it, and we can take it for ourselves.”

Sigrun nodded and continued. “When Trond discreetly contacted some of the Arapaho who live nearby, they seemed amenable to faking an attack on one of the shipments, if properly recompensed.” Tuuri snorted derisively, but Sigrun let it pass. “All we had to do was tell them where and when to strike, which I did when we were in town, and so the trap is set.”

“Seems simple enough,” Mikkel rumbled. Lalli nodded thoughtfully.

“With the wagon as our ‘Trojan Horse’, we should be able to gain entry to the mines with ease, where part two begins. After we get inside the main complex, Lalli, Emil and I will take out the guards, find this Russet and get him to sign some new papers, while Mikkel helps the slaves flee. Shortly afterwards, there will be a ‘tragic accident’ that claims Russet’s life so he won’t run squealing to his buddies.”

“Murder?” Mikkel queried, a bit sadly.

“Justice,” Sigrun hissed back. “Justice for all those he’s worked to death already, and for those he intends to.”

“He’s in bed with what ‘law’ there is hereabouts,” Emil pointed out. “That’s how he justifies his slaves--they’re ‘convicts at hard labor’, never mind that most were abducted and brought here by force.”

Mikkel sighed. “Have it your own way, then.”

*

Emil had only been away for half an hour or so when Lalli rode back furiously from his rearguard position. Something was obviously wrong, and perhaps disastrously so, for Lalli to leave his post like that.

Lalli slowed his horse as he neared their Conestoga. Tossing Reynir the reins, he leapt from the saddle and all but flew to the map table Sigrun and Tuuri were standing by.

Sigrun looked at Tuuri inquisitively. “There’s a slave wagon on the way,” Tuuri translated. “They’re coming fast enough to spring the trap early.”

Mikkel bit off a curse, and Sigrun frowned. Tuuri, however, had had an inspiration.

“I think we can take this bunch without killing the slaves,” Tuuri told Sigrun.

*

The morning slave run rounded another curve a mile or so from the bridge, only to find that a great mass of wood girders and trusses and such sprawled untidily across the road before it, making it impracticable unless cleared. The wagon perforce stopped, the turret swiveling to and fro as the driver and one of the guards exited to move the obstruction away.

Before the door swung shut, Lalli put a bullet through the turret man’s forehead, while a grenade from Emil took down the two outside and Sigrun forced her way in. It was over before it had really begun, but now there were a bunch of slaves to see to.

*

An hour or so later, Emil swaggered back to the camp triumphantly, and stopped dead in dismay when he saw the ironclad. “Wait. I just spent all those hours rigging that bridge to blow... for nothing?”

“It’ll keep anyone from following us?” Tuuri offered apologetically. Then she frowned. “How are we supposed to get across ourselves?”

Sigrun grinned down at Tuuri from her perch at the turret gun. “Just take it slow and easy and we’ll be fine.”

*

They had passed the halfway mark on the bridge when the horsemen rode in on the attack. “Wait, that’s not right,” Sigrun protested, her brow furrowing. “They’re coming from the wrong direction, and at the wrong time--Hey! Those [EXPLETIVE DELETED] redskins have turned traitor on us!”

“I _told_ you we shouldn’t trust them,” Turri muttered. “Those _pure-bloods--”_ she made it an epithet “--never keep their word. Not the Arapaho.”

“Whatever you do, make sure the horses _don’t bolt,”_ Emil cautioned. “I’ll tell when it’s safe to spring ‘em.”

Tuuri gave him an amused glance at “spring ‘em”, but otherwise kept calm. The horsemen drew closer and closer as the wagon creaked ever so slowly across the bridge. Arrows were beginning to bounce off of the iron plating in earnest now, but the attackers seemed determined to avoid hitting the horses, mercifully.

“OK, _now!”_ Emil yelled, and Tuuri whipped up the horses, just as two of their pursuers sped onto the bridge.

The explosion did exactly what Emil had meant for it to do: launch everything ahead of a certain point on the bridge back to the side they’d started on. The ironclad wagon would have more or less survived. The horsemen decidedly did not.

Tuuri barely managed to get the now totally panicked horses under enough control to get them on the road from the crumbling remnants of the bridge, but she did manage it. That was when Sigrun decided to vent her spleen by ventilating their attackers with a few judicious bursts from the Gatling gun.

“Thus e’er to traitors,” Sigrun growled as they pulled away.


	4. Would Calling This Part Mine Kampf Invoke Godwin’s Law?

“This map is really detailed, Emil,” Sigrun praised the rather crude but indeed quite detailed drawing. “You drew this from memory?”

“Nah,” Emil said airily, “I sketched the place when Russet brought us there for the big scam.”

“What are those marks?” Tuuri asked.

“Shot placement for demolishing the place. Don’t worry; I’ll use the C Scheme on there.” Emil blushed as they all stared at him, Tuuri and Reynir actually gaping. “What? Don’t you guys plan out how to blow up everywhere you’ve been?”

“If it’s that old a map, though,” Sigrun mused, “then we should cut Lalli loose to make sure they haven’t made any improvements before we get there.” She turned to where the scout had been resting, only to find him gone.

“He slipped off to do just what you were about to ask of him about ten minutes after we got clear of the bridge,” Tuuri told her.

*

Reynir fidgeted as he sat next to Tuuri on the driver’s bench. Finally, Tuuri told him in exasperation, “Will you please just ask what you want to ask?”

“Um... Ahhhhhhh...” Reynir was still uncertain how to begin. “You seemed kind of-- I mean, what you said earlier-- I just wondered-- You look Indian, but you hate ‘em, and I want to know why.”

Tuuri blushed. “Oh, um, well, it’s just that... Lalli and I, our ancestors were a bunch of Cherokee who married white people, over and over again--I mean, neither of us color our hair to make it blond. Nor do we hide on some reservation, but make our own way, in our own good township. But we’ve had dealings with _pure-bloods_ \--” again, she made it an epithet “--before, and every time, they’ve shown themselves to be cowardly, lazy, lying, mean... To be blunt, I’ve seen white folk both good and bad, but nothing good about _pure-bloods,_ and much evil.”

Reynir sat thoughtfully for a bit. Then, he said, “I hope someday you see the good in them, for I do believe it’s there.”

*

When Lalli returned, a scant half hour before they were to reach the gates, he and Tuuri updated Emil’s sketch, laying it out for Sigrun’s perusal; though not much updating was needed. Nor was there much alteration of the basic plan, though Emil teasingly asked if “the little Mastermind” had any suggestions.

There wasn’t much conversation after that, though the ten minutes or so until they reached the gate dragged on like an eternity. But, as each of them had something to do in the plan, they each had to ready themselves to get it done as best they could.

*

It was almost anti-climactic how everything went according to the plan. Oh, sure, Sigrun had to get a bit, ah, _creative_ in doing her part, but it wasn’t as if they needed those guards alive or anything. And Lalli may have messed around with which tower he took out when, but it none of it kept Emil from blowing various things up, Mikkel from rescuing the slaves, Reynir from readying whatever transport was around for said slaves to vamoose in, or Tuuri from wielding the turret gun to great effect.

The only problem proved to be the absence of Russet, though that would solve itself soon enough...


	5. Not Really an Ending

Russet crouched behind his desk, the room swathed in comforting darkness. The gun in his hand had seen many years of hard use, and would see many more such if Russet had his way. He knew what was coming--what had to be coming: they couldn’t let him live.

Russet frowned at the thought of how easily he’d allowed himself to be taken. He’d gone to the mine, all unawares, but when his coach door opened, instead of his manager meeting him with the production reports, he’d found himself held at gunpoint by a pretty boy and a stern redheaded woman. The duo had forced him to sign certain papers in the presence of a frowning blond giant, and then, of all things, sent him back home. But Russet knew they couldn’t let him live to repudiate the transfers, “signed confession” or no.

His head lifted. The noise, a subtle creaking of wood and metal, repeated itself. Someone was at the door, moving to open it with as little noise as possible. Russet swallowed hard, but quietly. So, they’d come for him at last. Well, this time, he wouldn’t be taken so easily!

The door slowly swung open, the corridor behind as black as the room Russet hid in. Just barely, Russet was able to make out the figure that moved from the hallway over along the wall to the fireplace, groping cautiously all the way in the inky darkness, but careful not to make noise.

Russet almost had the drop on the assassin, when his body betrayed him. After a week of holing up in this room awaiting just this moment, his stomach was empty of all but a bit of gas which chose that moment to burble its way into his throat. While not an outright belch, the muffled sound was more than sufficient to alert the hunter to Russet’s presence.

All thought of stealth gone, Russet leaped up, aimed his gun and fired in one smooth motion, just as the other did the same.

*

Sigrun smiled as she showed the others the story in the paper: “Local Magnate Rutherford ‘Ruddy’ Russet and his foreman, ‘Cajun’ Jean Valois, were found dead yesterday morning in what authorities are calling ‘a tragic case of mistaken identity’. Each apparently mistook the other for a prowler in the night, with fatal consequences.”

“And so fear destroys another man in his guilt,” Mikkel remarked. “Well done, Sigrun.”

“All I did was get the man to sign some papers,” she protested mock-innocently. “...And maybe I let slip a few rumors about robberies in the area when that foreman of his was around, but why should anyone worry over unsubstantiated rumors?”

“Still,” Mikkel rumbled, “we didn’t have to lay a finger on him to neutralize him. Again, well done.”

The conversation might have gone on thus for some time if Tuuri hadn’t bustled in, waving a telegram.

“Sigrun! Look at _this!_ Trond has another job for us!”

A gleam that both frightened and thrilled her teammates grew in Sigrun’s eyes as she read the telegram...


End file.
